


Clear and Clever Torments

by Kanra_chan



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cutting, Dark, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oneshot, Paranoia, disturbed Tweek, more so than usual anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13764312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanra_chan/pseuds/Kanra_chan
Summary: The shadows moved when he wasn’t looking. They shifted and blinked at him, watching, waiting. They wanted his blood, they wanted his heart! They were hungry, starving even, crying out to be fed.And Tweek was powerless not to feed them.





	Clear and Clever Torments

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Clear and Clever Torments |Traducción|](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15873624) by [Maya_0196](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maya_0196/pseuds/Maya_0196)



> Heeeeyy! So, warning for cutting and mental health stuff! If that's triggering, I suggest you don't read this. So, I've written for the SP fandom only once, (don't go read that one, it's truly awful and strange. And old) but I've been binge watching South Park and had some inspiration. 
> 
> Enjoy~

The shadows moved when he wasn’t looking. They'd shift and blink at him, watching, waiting. They wanted his blood, they wanted his heart! They were hungry, starving even, and crying out to be fed.

Tweek didn’t hate them. They're like children, they couldn’t help it- they simply didn’t know any better. Exposing his arms in the night, allowing tongues like that of a snake’s to flick over the fresh sounds, he didn’t fight it anymore. He didn’t speak about it, either, not to anyone. No one believed him about those dreadful gnomes, why should they believe in blood-thirsty shadow children?

 _“Tweeeeeekkk,”_ cries a lonely voice. He pulls his body into a tighter ball on the couch, curled around his lukewarm coffee and safe only in the light of his television. He wanted to get a fresh cup, but the kitchen lights were off and he was scared. They struck in the dark, hidden where no one could see them. He sighs heavily, starting to slump sideways without even realizing it.

He’s getting sleepy, shaking as he takes a sip of his coffee. It’s awful, decaffeinated because Craig insisted he try to drop coffee. His boyfriend was trying to help, assuming less caffeine meant less shaking and less shaking meant less paranoia and a happier Tweek. He hadn’t protested much, it was too much pressure to try, but without his coffee he’s starting to fall asleep.

 _“Tweek!”_ Screeches another, a blurred hand shooting out to tug on his arm from where it had fallen off the side of the couch. He jerks upright, realizing he’d spilled his shitty excuse for coffee all over the couch and floor. He tugs the sleeve of his green shirt over the stark white bandages covering him from his elbow to his wrist. He quickly retrieves the now empty mug, looking around the room for his shadows. They’re hiding now, but he can hear them giggling.

“I-I can’t,” he whispers, frowning. “I, ugh! I have co-company c-coming over tonight…” But, was that really true? It was almost midnight. Sure, Craig wasn’t exactly known for being punctual, but surely three hours late meant he wasn’t coming. He was probably asleep by now, or playing video games, or petting stripe.

Busy forgetting about Tweek.

“Oh, h-he must ha-hate me!” He fists his hands in his hair, tugging, wishing he had one of his fidget spinners with him. One of the ones given to him by Craig… “A-aurgh! I can’t!” He gasps again, closing his eyes tightly.

 _“Help us, please.”_ That particular shout comes from the youngest of the shadows. Well, he assumes it to be the youngest. “A boy, from the distorted sound of it, and very monotone. He reminded him of Craig, and it was awfully hard to resist that voice.

He focuses desperately on the TV, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. The shadows squirm excitedly out of the corner of his eye, acting like sharks at the sight/smell of his blood. Sick, sick sick, these children…

The TV flickers, the bright colors of some cartoon bleeding into more muted, depressing shades. The characters stop their playing, turning to him like they can see him. Their faces are grim looks of disappointment, and he feels ashamed all at once.

“I j-just want to sleep,” he sobs, tears spilling suddenly. His arms throb in pain, the left one especially, and he slowly slides on the couch and pads to the kitchen. He doesn’t need to see where he’s going, by now he knows exactly where the the furniture is, stepping around it without thinking like he’s reciting the steps to a dance. Really, nights like this are the only times he’s graceful.

He grabs a knife from the drawer near the fridge, the feeling around for the small one that’s the sharpest. Upon finding it, he heads towards the pantry and rummages through it. He keeps a blood crusted towel there, hidden deep behind dusty cans of food and ruined coffee filters no one bothers to throw out.

Dragging himself and the towel to the middle of the kitchen floor, he takes a seat and drapes the towel over his knee. He slowly unwinds the bandages from around his left arm in the dark, grateful for the fact that it was nighttime. His shadows aside, he almost always felt like someone was watching and judging. It was why he took showers with only the hall light on.

 _“Hurry,”_ the youngest shadow requests calmly, and Tweek starts to shake as he braces his now bare arm against his knee and brings the knife to an older scar. It hurts more, choosing the scars rather than blank flesh, but he has to sometimes. Otherwise, he’d run out of space and have to choose fresher cuts and scars all the time. The shadows are buzzing in excitement, giggling in his ears and eager for their dinner. He can no longer hear the TV over their sickeningly noises of anticipation.

“A-augh!” He chokes at the smell of blood, cutting deep as he can and wrenching the knife over his skin. He’s learned he has to do it right the first slice, or he’ll be forced to run the blade again and again until he gets enough blood to pool. That’s never fun.

His body’s fluid starts to slide down his arm, and he closes his eyes tightly. Rough dry tongues begin to slide over his skin, irritating his wounds as they press against it for more. He starts to cry again, trembling alone on the linoleum while the greedy children have their fill.

Except he isn’t alone. The lights flick on, though he doesn’t notice at first with how tightly his eyes are closed. But the buzzes stop, replaces with human breathing, and he slowly lifts his head and opens his eyes to behold the sight of his boyfriend. Craig’s expression is one of clear concern, eyebrows drawn and mouth tight on the emotion. His fingers, still pressed over the lightswitch with his arm extended, twitch like he wants to turn the lights back off and walk away from the gruesome scene.

“Dude,” he hisses, eyes flicking from the knife to his hand. Tweek jolts, dropping the knife with a clatter that sounds too loud against paranoid ears. He shoves the towel, rough and dry, over his arm to hide the cuts and scars from worried blue eyes.

“T-they made me!” Tweek blurts, shaking harder. “They m-made me do it!” Craig takes a quick glance around the room. His fingers slide away from the lightswitch as he takes a hesitant step forward, allowing his arm to drop by his side.

“...Who made you do it?” Craig asks, or rather he sighs, coming to crouch in front of him with a more neutral expression. Tweek ducks his head, feeling suddenly ashamed.

“The shadows…” He mumbles, and Craig slowly nods, a look like he’s just remembered something semi important dawning over his stiff expression.  

“That’s right, it’s Friday isn’t it? Or was,” he sighs again, glancing at his watch much to Tweeks confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Craig smiles, reaching out to gently wrap the towel around Tweeks arms and help him stand. “Let's get this cleaned up, okay?” They head towards the stairs to his bedroom, slowly marching up the stairs.

“You believe me?” Tweek asks, feeling crushed under the weight of his relief.

“I always do,” Craig murmurs back. Tweek hasn’t told him about the shadows, so he’s not sure what his boyfriend means by this. Still, the hands cleaning up the blood, rewrapping his arm, holding him in his bed are comforting and he doesn’t question this. It’s not long before he falls asleep, the shadows quieted by Craig’s presence.

* * *

 

 Beep. Beep beep.

Tweek groaned, burying his head deeper in his pillow. The beeping, that godawful beeping never ceased. It was always in his head, the chip implanted there beeping beeping beeping in his skull. It was the government, he knew it was, listening to his thoughts all the time.

Beep beep beep!”

“S-shut up!” He moans, startling when the door swings open suddenly, revealing his boyfriend holding a tray.

“You okay, Tweek?” Craig asks mildly, the smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the room. He smiles, a little shakily, and hopes it’s not obvious.

“Y-yes, I’m fine…” He says, earning a nod, and sits up to eat the breakfast his boyfriend has so kindly prepared. He couldn’t say anything after all.

Beep. Beep. Beep…

He didn’t speak about it, not to anyone, not even Craig. No one believed him about those dreadful gnomes, why should they believe the government had planted a chip in his head? His arms throbs, the left one especially, and he wonders distantly why.

Craig distracts him not long after though, and he doesn’t notice blue eyes checking the calendar on his wall. Each day of the week is marked with a little cartoon doodle. Saturday is a colorful computer chip, a red G decorating the front.

Tweek takes no notice.


End file.
